


fire stirred by the force of waterfall

by darkclear



Category: Possession - A. S. Byatt
Genre: Epilogue, F/F, Hair Brushing, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkclear/pseuds/darkclear
Summary: A quick epilogue to Possession by A. S. Byatt created in the fire of my anger at how she treated women.Pre-relationship feels with Maud and Leonora.
Relationships: Maud Bailey/Leonora Stern
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	fire stirred by the force of waterfall

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction! All because of a book I was forced to read in college. If anyone reads this, I hope you enjoy the fruits of my anger.

After grueling weeks of negotiations and legal proceedings, it had finally been decided that the letters would, in fact, stay at the Women’s Resource Centre, where Maud Bailey and Leonora Stern would edit and publish a collection with help on the Randolph Henry Ash letters from Dr. Nest as the letters also had implications for her work on Ellen Ash’s journal. During these proceedings, Roland had decided to take the post at Amsterdam and left quietly enough to begin anew as a scholar and poet. Leonora, in her strong-willed way, had convinced Maud to let her stay at her apartment while they worked on the collection, the women relearning what it was like to inhabit the same space after everything that has happened.

**† † †**

She looks over at Maud sitting on her pristine white couch, rubbing her temples as if she has a headache.

“Love, what’s wrong?” Leonora asks, eyebrows drawn in concern as she brings her a glass of burgundy, settling down next to her on the couch, careful not to spill the wine and leave a blood red stain on the snowy white fabric.

“I’m sorry, Lee, my scalp hurts after having my hair up all day. Would you mind if I went in the bathroom and took my hair down?” Maud asks, almost hesitant.

“Why don’t you let me do it? I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.”

Leonora’s signature red lips twist into a little disapproving grimace at that. “You could never burden me, dearest.”

With a small nod, Maud heads off into her bedroom to grab a brush, a hint of a blush staining her ivory cheeks. When she returns, she settles on her green ottoman, positioned in front of where Leonora waits on the couch.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Leonora says as she begins unpinning Maud’s green silk headscarf, taking care not to pull the hair underneath. The scarf comes off, and her golden hair is revealed, two long braids coiled around her head like the snakes of the Medusa. Leonora hums as she pulls out the bobby pins holding the braids in place, thinking about the woman who wears them. She’s been colleagues with Maud for ages and friends for about as long. At first, Leonora was attracted to her work, her writing on liminality and boundaries in LaMotte, but after working with Maud, long nights spent talking and writing and debating and rewriting, she stopped appreciating Maud for her academic insight alone and started appreciating her for her, for Maud. Most people never got past Maud’s cold exterior and expertly put-together façade, but in all those exhilarating nights working together, the women had grown close, for who could work that closely with someone for that long without letting any little thing slip?

As Leonora begins to unwind the braided hair, feeling the soft slip of it against her hands, Maud relaxes under her ministrations, letting herself, at last, drift away from the now and reflect on just what has happened over the past months. It has been a while since Roland left for Amsterdam, leaving her behind. She feels so silly that she thought that he would be any different, any better, than Fergus, than the others that only cared to possess her. She had gotten caught in the excitement of the discovery of the letters, got swept up in the whirlwind of the chase, of history in the remaking. Thinking about it, they both had, in their own ways. After rushing through her ancestors’ boundaries and making their carefully constructed walls come crashing down, it made sense, in that state, that hers would follow. So she gave in to him, thinking that it was love, thinking that he would be different, that he would see her for herself, not for how she looked with him, not for another achievement at the end of his triumphal procession. And when he was done with her, he left.

A tug at the hair as Leonora begins to brush brings Maud back to reality.

“Sorry, love, hit a snag there.”

“I barely felt it,” says Maud in a small voice. Sitting there, firmly now in the present moment, Maud’s senses awaken as she closes her eyes in contentment. She can hear the jangle of Leonora’s gold bangles moving on her wrists as she cards though the blonde hair, smell the intoxicating scent of her, the musky men’s cologne she has always preferred over more floral, feminine perfumes. Her scalp tingles with gentle pleasure as she feels Leonora lovingly brush through her hair, moving in small sections to make sure that she leaves no strand untouched. _It’s nice,_ Maud thinks, _to be cared for._

Because she is being cared for. In the aftermath of this whole situation, Leonora was with her every step of the way. Through the legal nonsense and Roland leaving, Leonora has been by her side, giving her support and pushing her forward when she felt unable to move. On the days when she felt like she could not eat, Leonora fed her. When she couldn’t sleep, she talked her to nice, gentle slumber.

At this realization, Maud’s eyes fly open. How could she not have seen, truly seen, Leonora there in front of her this whole time? She feels, quickly bubbling up inside of her, such a sudden rush of gratitude for Leonora and resentment at herself for taking so long to realize what she has that she could hardly have stopped the tears from coming if she tried. It begins small, barely a whimper, but Leonora, ever attuned to everything Maud, notices anyway.

“Maud, love, are you crying?”

She puts a hand on her green-sweatered shoulder, turning her gently around so that she can look in her love’s crumpling face. Brown eyes meet teary green, and Maud surrenders completely to her emotions as she sees the expression of utmost concern and devotion that graces Leonora’s queenly face.

“I’m – I’m s-sorry. I swear, I haven’t c-cried like this since I was a ch-child. I—”

“Shh, dearest. Whatever it is, we can talk about it later. Right now, please, let it out. Let me help you.” Having said this, Leonora takes Maud in a firm, comforting embrace and lets her cry on her shoulder. She feels her red dress begin to grow wet with her tears, but she doesn’t care. Maud is more important than anything like that.

**† † †**

Later, they talk, and they finally find solace in one another. For each other, they are enough. The collection does, too soon, get finished and published, and Leonora must return to her life in America. However, it does not take the closest observer to notice the glowing blonde woman with the bright red lips who sits in on her lectures and accompanies her home.


End file.
